Too Easy by Bruce Deitrick Price

Author:Bruce Deitrick Price
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

Chapter

24

• Robert sees his boss coming toward his office. This big bald guy looking very harried and belligerent, which can’t mean anything good. “Rob,” he says, hardly through the door, “you get down there, too.”

Robert tries to act casual about this. He leans back in his swivel chair. “So what is this thing?” he asks slowly. “It’s not terrorism, is it?”

“No, probably not,” the man says. “ConEd just blew up the street, looks like.”

Robert ponders this thoughtfully. The old pro giving the matter his full consideration. He shrugs. “Well, I think my people can handle it. I just assigned everybody.” Robert tries for a buddy-to-buddy expression. “You think it’s really necessary for me to be there?”

The man stares down at Robert. His pink jowly face tense and unhappy. “Damn it, Rob, there’s bodies lying in the street. Get your ass moving.”

Robert smiles manfully, thinking, You fuck, you’re wrecking all my plans. “Sure, boss, no problem.”

“Report back,” the man says. “Figure a late night. Take Ferguson with you.” And he’s gone.

Who the hell is Ferguson? Damn. For once I told Anne the truth. Now I can’t use it. Everything was all set. . . .

He sees Kathy as he grabs the phone, dials his wife’s work number, thinking fast. “Oh, Anne, hi, Robert. Another delay. . . . You’ll see it on TV. Big explosion on 24th Street. Boss just walked in, said to prepare for an all-nighter. I’m going down there now. . . . No, don’t worry. I just have to look after the troops. . . . I’ll call after dinner, give you an update. . . . Great, talk to you. Bye.”

He slumps back. Damn it to hell, I need a drink.

He picks up the phone again, dials Kathy’s number. “Miss Becker? Mr. Robbins here. That meeting for the fourth has run up against—”

A young woman knocks on the frame of his door, walks in. Robert covers the phone, snaps: “What?”

“Hi, I’m Lucy Ferguson. Mr. Townsend said I should tag along with you.”

“Ferguson?”

She shrugs. A short, plain, earnest-looking woman, about twenty-six. “They just sent me down from Rochester.”

“Great,” Robert says, making it sound ironic. “Just stand there.” To the phone he says, “People in and out. Fourth no good. Get back to you in three hours, set up something else. . . . Yeah, real sorry.” Robert glances at the new reporter, worried that real sorry might sound romantic or too emotional. “Bye.”

Robert hangs up, gets to his feet quickly, reaches for his jacket, and moves quickly past the woman. “Okay, Ferguson, game time.”

He marches to the elevators, thinking, Let’s show the little rookie we’re all business around here. No hanky-panky whatever. No fucking on the roof angles. No cunt-crazy-editor-kills-wife stories around here.

God, just thinking that put a shock up my rib cage. Am I losing it? I am losing it.

He ignores the new reporter in the elevator and as they rush out to Third to hail a taxi. He smiles to himself as she has to run to keep up.

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